in joyful death, we make our bed
by S.J Carter
Summary: She holds on to him for dear life because he is the only life that she has ever known. —-ElijahHayley (in the words of Michael Faudet)


_Le notes: _Inspired by the promo for 1x06. I took many liberties, as always. This fic is for **stardreamer28 **on tumblr because her request really inspired me. And Haylijah is supercalifragilisticexpialidocious so I needed to get my feels out. Another Haylijah fic will be coming out shortly (that one will be more full-length-ish).

_Summary:_ She holds on to him for dear life because he is the only life that she has ever known. —-ElijahHayley

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**in joyful death, we make our bed  
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"I found you, drifting like  
morning mist."—Michael Faudet

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The world, according to Hayley Marshall, is a battlefield and everyone in it is desperately struggling to survive on a blood-splattered combat-zone. The worst part —or the best, depending on how you look at it— is that we all have someone we want to protect. Some claim that this makes us stronger; others say that it makes us weak. The difference between them is where a parent-to-be would fit in to this perspective. Normally, strength would define a certain teenage wolf girl's new found nature. However, she might just think herself weak because, at this very moment, she feels the water fill up her lungs and her ears are ringing and her eyes are burning and—

"I can't breathe."

She tries to scramble to her feet, but her head feels light and all around is cold and wet. She balls her fingers in to fists and pushes punches in to the waters. She loses herself in to a rhythm of thuds and rushes of waves circling inside her eardrums. And she wants to cry, to scream, oh God, she wants to scream. But she's drowning and the waters in her lungs are going to up to her eyes.

Hayley thinks she might fall in to a deep slumber soon, with the feeling of suffocation covering her fists, her feet, and the hollows of her eye-sockets. Her ribs feel weak and her bones seem broken. Her nails turn in to sharp claws and her irises become bright and golden.

As her eyelids begin to feel heavy, she remembers seeing a flash of chestnut colored hairs dance across her vision.

_"I can't breathe!"_

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Sometimes, she hears stories, colorful and fantastic, narrated and read to her as she keeps her eyes shut and the waters reach her lungs. The tales are classics, something she could read in school books and English lit classes. She lies on a snow white bed and he's sitting at the edge of the mattress. This is where she ends and he begins.

_"But I don't want comfort."_ He reads, _"I want poetry. I want danger. I want goodness. I want sin." _He's gazing at her again, and he can't even tell that she hates the way he looks at her. Like he sees hope and faith and she swears that she's neither of those things. If anything, she is hopelessness and faithlessness, a 'beast' —or so her mother had called her— a _foul _beast who did not deserve to live. Or so she's been told.

Elijah smiles her way as he closes the book. "I get the feeling that listening to Aldous Huxley hasn't exactly managed to peak your fancy." She doesn't understand, he speaks as if all is well. As if she is not dying and he is not failing.

"Am I dreaming?" She questions, frazzled.

Elijah's chuckle is her answer.

The waters start to rise, all over again.

**.**

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There's something inside of her, pounding and pounding away. Struggling to live just as hard as she is. Then, Hayley really thinks that life is this fragile thing. Like spun glass or winter's first snowflake. There's darkness all around her right now but, this life inside of her is a beacon of light. There's a chill setting in to her skin and bones, making her wrinkle and suffer and there's this pressure to stay so desperately alive. For a moment, it feels like a dream. So cruelly painful that it became unreal; a shade of peach colored sorrows and regrets. And a man who held her close and whispered sweet _sweet_ words into her ear.

_"You'll be all right, I promise."_

Sure she saw some red flags; a thousand year old vampire, an original, dangerous, all-powerful, and uncomfortably handsome.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

She receives the oddest feeling of déjà-vu.

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Sometimes, she feels like she's been sitting there for hours. With Elijah across from her bed, reading her books and reciting poetry. She receives strange visions as death comes closer and closer towards her. The poems are sweet; like icing sugar and it sickens her. His ancient voice can make everything seem just fine. When in reality—

(_You come to me,  
in waning moonlight  
your story told  
on icy skin,  
the pages pale,  
with purple kisses,  
walking barefoot  
and breathless,  
towards my heart._)

—she's dying.

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She has a vision, or so she thinks.

She's not sure because she can no longer tell the difference between fact and fiction. Yet, the man in her dreams speaks in a low and breathy voice, in the shell of her ear, with his arms around her (tightly). She wants to breathe, damn it. She really does. But how can she when she feels the life draining out of her? And when she's being touched by this man who makes her heart race and her blood boil? She can't help but hold her breath.

"Help me," she cries, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "Please," her fingers are swollen and wrinkled, with her flesh losing its peachy tones.

"I'm trying to." He confesses, locking eyes with her like star-crossed lovers. It's ironic because she feels like she's dying. "I'm going to save you." He tells her.

She tightens her grip on him, her tears mixing with the waters from the pool. "How?"

Elijah takes a breath and, for a moment, he thinks he hears her heart stop beating. "I don't know." He weaves his fingers in to her hairs, bringing her closer towards him. "I wish I did." He sounds so honest and filled with unknown concern.

"Why is this happening to me?" She asks, breathlessly.

"Unfortunately," he begins, letting his fingers slip passed the small of her back, "I still do not have any answers for you." He sounded saddened, much to her dismay. "But I promise you, that I will not let anything happen to you." She sees nothing but his eyes, as he presses his forehead against hers.

Hayley breaks their gaze, suddenly, the pain lessens. "I know."

**.**

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Sometimes, his poems are sad, just like her almost-death.

_"I cannot sleep,  
I cannot cry,  
I cannot even wonder why."_

Sometimes, she forgets to question his years of running from love and chasing after it. She doesn't ask why he keeps forgiving people who have hurt him. She doesn't even wonder why he wants to save her so desperately.

_"You broke my heart,  
will I be missed?"_

Sometimes, he stirs up countless emotions, inside of her. Emotions she doesn't want or need, because the last time she had cared about people, they literally kicked her to the curb. And who's to say that this won't happen again?

_"Red ribbons wrapped  
around my wrist."_

Before she wakes up, she sees blood on her skin.

**.**

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She holds on to him for dear life because he is the only life that she has ever known.

Her lamest excuse though, is heat. He's warm, as hot as the sun, making her feel at ease. And so, when she finds herself out of the waters and right under his sheets, she can't help but scream.

"What am I doing here?" She shouts as he looks to her, almost _amused_. He doesn't tell her this, but she knows that this is his bed. She wandered in here, all on her own. Purposely or by accident. It did not matter. All she knows is that ever since she had been in that pool, feeling the life drained out of her, Hayley had begun to sleep in his bed.

His sheets smell like fresh rain, and forests, and waterfalls. She hates herself for recognizing it but she breathes it in anyway.

"You saved me," she concludes, avoiding his eyes.

"That I did." He confirms.

"Do I owe you something now?" She questions, bunching his sheets closer to her thin frame.

Elijah chuckles. "Not a thing my dear, I assure you."

She sighs, rolling her eyes. "Good." She claims. "Very good, in fact." Quickly, Hayley untangles herself from his sheets and starts to walk out of his chamber. He follows her out but no longer does she choose to meet his gaze.

Hayley thinks that perhaps, locking eyes with him might turn her to stone.

_"I am hypnotized.  
Sleepwalking to the rhythm of your words,  
Never wishing to wake_—"

She never looks back and he keeps staring at her, as if he is starstruck.

Strangely, Hayley feels quite flattered.

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**End**

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_Le more notes: _All the poems featured here are by Michael Faudet. This is a very AU version of 1x06, I know, but this is how I write. And I've recently become addicted to Faudet's writings so I just had to incorporate him in to this fic. Hopefully, you enjoyed this story. Leave me a review telling me what you thought, and follow me on tumblr because I take requests (link on my profile)!

—**_Xoxo Carter_**


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